


Wide Apart

by miss_aphelion



Series: Tony Stark’s Guide for the Care and Feeding of Recovering Assassins [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion
Summary: “Well, if Stark has him, what are the chances the asset’s still in one piece? I mean, right out of cryo, ain’t like he could put up much of a fight.”Rumlow gave a grim smile. “I’ll have them start canvassing for a body,” he agreed. “Stark’s no Captain America—you can bet he’d come here packing more firepower than a shield.”(Or; what the bad guys were up to while Bucky was off watching Pixar in his Iron Man slippers)





	Wide Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: I would like to submit a prompt, maybe something like Hydra pov? Like, them losing the asset and trying to retrieve him. Even the stuff with the helicarriers and the other soldiers, if that’s ok? I just really want to see all their plans going to hell. 
> 
> Note: At first I was like oh no, how am I gonna write this one, and then it was of course all I could think about it. It was so much fun to come at this story from a different angle. So much of the first chapters of Dig No Graves was just pure fluff, but there was a lot of darker things going on behind the scenes. This is a little glimpse into that.

_By nature, men are nearly alike; by practice, they get to be wide apart. -Confucious_

-

-

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rumlow said, as he stood in the burnt out cryo room. “Pierce is gonna kill us.” 

“We weren’t supposed to take custody of the asset until today,” Jack Rollins pointed out, as though Pierce would fucking care who got screwed over because he didn’t get what he wanted. “They can’t blame us.” 

Behind them, their fellow SHIELD agents were arresting and hauling away their fellow Hydra agents. Being a double-agent was fucking confusing, sometimes. Rumlow liked to keep things simpler. He didn’t like the worlds colliding this way, though he supposed with Pierce’s plans, it was only a matter of time. 

At least this had been one of the covert bases, so none of the technicians or guards had any direct tie to SHIELD. They just had to haul them all away, fill out transfer paperwork to one of their more secret prisons, and then ship them off—of course, they’d actually send them back to another Hydra base, not the Ice Box, but the prison was so damned secret no one would ever be able to follow up and check. 

“You really think he’s dead?” Rollins asked a moment later. “The asset?” 

“Techs already scanned the place,” Rumlow said. “No human remains.” 

“So someone took him,” Rollins said, disbelieving. “SHIELD isn’t involved. Who else could have done it?” 

“There’s someone SHIELD doesn’t control,” Rumlow pointed out, scrubbing a hand irritably through his short hair. “Stark may have signed on with the Avengers, but he’s refused every offer SHIELD’s made.” 

“I thought they didn’t make the offer,” Rollins said. “Too hard to control.” 

Rumlow barked out a laugh. “They’d do anything to get Stark,” he said. “They just didn’t make the offer as some kinda reverse psychology thing. Or maybe it was more that if they didn’t directly offer he couldn’t say no. Either way, he’s made it clear he won’t work directly with SHIELD, not the other way around.” 

“But why would he work _against_ us?” Rollins asked, looking up with a knowing smirk. “I mean, we’re the good guys.” 

“Stark doesn’t trust anyone in government,” Rumlow said with a shrug. “Guy’s a lot of things, but he ain’t ever been stupid.” 

Rollins let out a low whistle. “Well, if Stark has him, what are the chances the asset’s still in one piece? I mean, right out of cryo, ain’t like he could put up much of a fight.” 

Rumlow gave a grim smile. “I’ll have them start canvassing for a body,” he agreed. “Stark’s no Captain America—you can bet he’d come here packing more firepower than a shield.”

\- - - - - 

Rumlow had been sure that would be the last of it, but they searched a five mile radius from the base and there was no sign of the asset’s body. The lab rats were running programs constantly to track him with their freaky algorithms and facial recognition, but he’d never expected anything to come of it.

He’d figured if Tony Stark wanted to get rid of a body, he’d do it without a trace. He didn’t expect anyone would be seeing the asset again. 

But that was probably his own fault, for being stupid enough to try and predict Stark in the first place. 

“It can’t be him,” Rumlow said, looking over Rollins’ shoulder at the screen in disbelief. 

“Bob Morrison,” Rollins read. “Age 29. Born in Brooklyn Heights Hospital. We’ve got social media accounts dated back through 2002. There’s no pictures posted on the accounts themselves, but we’ve got one from the DMV. Issued in 2003, apparently. He’s even registered to vote, fucking democrat. Also, he’s a fan of Pixar films. Mostly, he’s following animation companies on Twitter, well, and _Stark_ , and has a lot of likes for Disney memes.” 

Then Rollins closed out the window with the Twitter account, and brought up the DMV photo. 

“Jesus, that’s actually him,” Rumlow said, though it was still hard to believe, because it didn’t _look_ like the asset. His hair was still long the way it had been, but it was clean and straight, tucked behind one ear on one side. The part that really differentiated him wasn’t even the smile, though that was strange enough—it was the _eyes_. Those were not the dead eyes of a mindless machine. 

Those were the eyes of someone human. 

“Shit,” he muttered. “Why the hell wouldn’t Stark just kill him?” He backed away from the screen in frustration. “No way he managed to abduct the asset from one of our bases, but somehow missed that he was the one that killed the Starks. What the hell is he up to?” 

“Maybe it’s a long term revenge plot?” Rollins guessed. “You know, like some _Count of Monte Cristo_ shit?” 

“What?” Rumlow demanded.

“Or maybe he just wanted him to get better first, so he’d actually care when he killed him,” Rollins said. “The asset as he was would have put a gun to his own head if you asked him to, and pulled the trigger without blinking. Where’s the fun in that?” 

“That is…really fucked up,” Rumlow told him. “Jesus. Look, Stark’s not a psychopath, so that’s not it.” 

Rollins glanced up, quirking an eyebrow. “So what?” he said. “You think he’s really just helping him? Out of the goodness of his heart? I didn’t think Stark had one.” 

Rumlow had to admit, after hearing it out aloud, that theory sounded almost as insane as Rollins’. Stark wasn’t some bleeding heart do-gooder like Rogers, it was a little much to think he’d take in his parents’ killer to try and rehabilitate him. 

“Maybe he’s…maybe he’s trying to get the asset to work for him,” Rumlow said. “He’s being nice to him, shit, you know how the asset gets when Pierce tells him he’s a good little soldier. He does anything he asks.” 

“Fuck,” Rollins said, though he let out a laugh. “So what, Tony Stark’s now got the world’s best assassin on his payroll, ready to do his bidding?” Rollins shook his head. “You were right. Pierce is gonna kill us.” 

Pierce didn’t actually kill them, of course. That was expected. But he wasn’t going to let them kill Stark, either. 

And that wasn’t. 

“It’s too late for that kind of solution,” Pierce had snapped at them. “We are not in a position to move against Stark at the moment, especially not if he’s got the asset on a leash. We’ve got to proceed with Project Insight, so the last thing we need is a massacre at Stark Tower all over the news.” 

Pierce had crossed his arms then, looking down at them like they were unruly children that couldn’t follow simple directions. Like it was even their fault Hydra couldn’t keep their hands on one frozen asset. 

“No, don’t touch Stark. Not yet,” he insisted. “But I want you to bring in the asset.” 

Rumlow had not replied _how the hell are we supposed to do that_ , and had simply nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” 

When he and Rollins exited the Triskelion, Rollins had looked at him in worry. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?” he asked. 

Rumlow smirked at him, like it was gonna be easy. Confidence was half the battle, with these things. “Just gotta get him alone,” he shrugged. 

Rollins, always smarter than he looked, just laughed in his face. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Hey, remember when they sent the asset in to steal a file from MI6, and he took out eighteen armed agents on his own without getting so much as a scratch? Cause I gotta say, I don’t see how getting him alone is gonna improve our odds by much.” 

“Just need to stay alive forty seconds,” Rumlow said. “Pierce gave me the trigger words.” 

“Sure, forty seconds,” Rollins said dubiously. “I really hope you’ve been practicing your Russian.”

\- - - - - 

They ended up in a fake cable company van across the street from Stark Tower by the end of the day, and there they stayed. Day in. Day out. For nearly _three weeks_ —with Rollins as his only company.

Rumlow sort of wished Pierce had just killed him. 

They had no sightings of the asset, or, for that matter, even Tony Stark. People were beginning to talk about Stark’s absence from the spotlight. Apparently, he’d missed some party or another that he never usually missed, and now people were speculating. It was pretty ridiculous—ranging from Stark being in rehab, to on some secret mission a world away. 

Rumlow snorted. Not like they’d ever guess the actual reason, though. 

The most intel they’d managed to gather so far was that Bob Morrison had racked up a few more likes on his Twitter account. Apparently he was a little obsessed with some kid’s film called _Brave_. Rumlow suspected Stark was just having his A.I. run the account to mess with them. 

“Shit, shit,” Rollins cried. “I think we’ve got him!” 

Rumlow spun in his chair, moving to glance over Rollins’ shoulder at the screen. It was some storefront security camera, which ended up catching a grainy view of an alley across the street. At first, Rumlow didn’t know what the hell Rollins was talking about, but then he saw him. 

He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, along with nice designer clothes, but the build underneath it was remarkable enough that he stood out from the rest of the people on the street. He wasn’t even wearing a glove, and when he moved to a different angle they could see the sun reflecting off the fingers of his left hand. 

Rumlow thought he was on some kind of kill mission, for a minute, but all he did was push himself in front of some vagrant and start gesticulating angrily at a couple of teenagers, who wisely ran off. Then he knelt down right in the middle of the dirty alley, and started talking with the homeless guy. 

“Is he…” Rumlow started in disbelief. 

Rumlow couldn’t finish the sentence, because anything he could think to say seemed too ridiculous. As was the fact that the asset was on his own, though perhaps that made more sense. The asset, when left alone too long, was prone to forget orders and start doing inexplicable things like trying to help the people he was supposed to hurt, or hurt the people he was supposed to protect. 

Then Stark showed up on the video, and the three left together.

“What the fuck,” Rumlow said in disbelief, because Stark and the asset had definitely not been interacting together as asset and handler. If the asset had slipped his leash on Hydra, they’d have him punished him swiftly and severely. “Were they _holding hands_?” 

Rollins backed the video up and paused it, and yeah, there was Stark, leading the asset out of the alley by the hand like he was some errant kid and not a killing machine. They were even bumping shoulders like they were out on some romantic stroll.

“Shouldn’t we go check it out?” Rollins asked after a minute. 

“Look at the timestamp, moron. This is ten hours old,” Rumlow muttered. “What the fuck good does it do us now?” 

“Patterns of behavior, intel, come on, this is what desk jockeys do,” Rollins said. 

Which was sort of the problem—Rumlow was the one that was supposed to come in _after_ the intel part was already done. But Pierce didn’t trust anyone else with his precious asset, and he was holding Rumlow personally responsible for having lost him in the first place. 

The only good news in any of this was that Rogers didn’t seem to have a clue his old war buddy was wandering around New York helping out random vagrants, because he was pretty sure the guy would have tried to kill them all by now. 

“Keep searching, then,” Rumlow said. “Find out where they go.” 

Rollins had just turned back to the computer when the picture on the screen abruptly disappeared, and their screen went black. A small stream of white text appeared at the top of the screen: 

_My apologies, it seems all of your data has been erased, and your computer appears to have been rendered entirely inoperable. Terribly inconvenient, but these things do happen._

_But I do sincerely hope you enjoy the rest of your day. :-)_

“Get it back,” Rumlow snapped. 

“How the hell am I supposed to get it back?” Rollins asked, tapping uselessly at the keys. He hit the side of the monitor, but the screen didn’t change. The little smiley face just stayed there, mocking them. 

“Stark?” Rollins guessed. 

“Who the fuck else,” Rumlow snarled, kicking the computer angrily.

\- - - - - 

It was nearly a month before they got their next lead. It was partly dumb luck, and party Rumlow’s genius. He’d put surveillance on the vagrant from the alley almost as an afterthought, not really believing Stark or the asset would have contact with him again.

But then he got the call. 

“The asset is here. He’s got a driver, but he’s otherwise alone,” was the only thing he was told, before his contact hung up.

But Rumlow was already moving, because he knew what that meant. He grabbed his jacket to hide his holsters and snapped his fingers at Rollins as he moved to the front of the van. “We’ve got him,” he said. “Buckle up.” 

“Where is he?” Rollins asked, as he dropped beside him. 

“Visiting the homeless shelter,” Rumlow said. 

“With that guy?” Rollins asked in surprise. “How we gonna handle this?” 

“We corner him when he comes out, just need you to hold him down while I finish out the words that’ll control him,” Rumlow said. 

“You just need me to _hold him down_?” Rollins asked, incredulously. “Brock, I’ve seen this guy lift a fucking car. He wasn’t even using the metal arm when he did it.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s just gonna sit there and wait patiently while I get through the whole thing,” Rumlow snapped. “Fucking Red Room, man. Why couldn’t they have come up with something a bit shorter?” 

“Can’t we tranq him?” Rollins asked. 

“They’re still trying to come up with something that’ll knock him out quick enough without killing him,” Rumlow told him. “As of now, he’d keep fighting about as long as it takes me to get out those words, anyway. You got the cuffs? You just need to get them on him.” 

“You really think they’ll hold him?” Rollins asked. 

“Guess we’ll find out.” 

Rollins sighed, grabbing the heavy magnetic cuffs and stuffing them in a backpack. Daylight abductions were not exactly a strong suit for either of them, they’d always been more soldiers than spies. 

But if he went to Pierce and said he couldn’t handle this, he doubted he’d get out of it with a simple dressing down. 

Hydra didn’t keep soldiers that didn’t finish their missions, and their retirement plan was a hell of a lot different than SHIELD’s—Hydra just paid the funeral expenses. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Rumlow said. “Hell, maybe we tell him we need help. Might distract him long enough to get him in the cuffs.” 

Rollins looked wary. “Won’t he recognize us?” 

“Why would he?” he shrugged. “They never let him remember anything.” 

They wait over an hour before the asset finally leaves the shelter, and Rollins had just started to move around the corner of the building to intercept him when some sixth sense had Rumlow reaching out to drag him back. He felt cold suddenly, like he was being watched. 

Except it wasn’t him that was being watched. 

Natasha Romanoff was standing on the other side of the street. He nearly didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a bright floral sundress and sandals, and her hair obviously had extensions as thick red curls were falling nearly to her waist, much darker than she usually wore it. She was wearing oversized mirrored sunglasses and had a cloth yellow headband holding the curls back. She appeared to be looking at her phone, while sucking down a Starbuck’s drink from a straw. 

She looked _harmless_ , like some bored tourist. Rumlow felt dread pooling in his stomach, his breath hitching as he tugged himself and Rollins a bit further out of view. 

He didn’t think she’d seen them, which was sort of a miracle, but she was obviously distracted. Because quite apart from looking at her phone, he knew she was tracking the asset—she was assessing him as he slipped into the waiting BMW that had been idling at the curb. 

They’d missed their chance, but Rumlow was barely equipped enough to take on the asset. He wasn’t stupid enough to take on the asset _and_ Romanoff with just Rollins as back-up. 

“How does she even know about him?” Rollins asked.

“Good question,” Rumlow agreed, as he ushered them quickly back towards the van.

\- - - - - 

The next time they see the asset, Rumlow had to make the call not to try an abduction again. Pierce was getting impatient, but Pierce also didn’t want Stark dead, and Stark and the asset were becoming inseparable.

They were both dressed to the nines, sliding into the back of one Stark’s many cars. Anything he could arrange to try and take the asset—a car accident was the only plan with any real viability—would take out Stark, too. 

So it was surveillance, again, instead. 

It turned out they were going to a _party_. 

“We could sneak in the employee entrance,” Rollins said. 

“If the asset doesn’t spot us—which, by the way, _he would_ ,” Rumlow said, “then Stark’s cameras will.” 

Rumlow didn’t bring up Romanoff, like mentioning her name might summon her, but he knew she was keeping tabs on the asset, too. He just didn’t know what her intentions were, yet. Officially, SHIELD still didn’t know the asset even existed. 

She sure as hell wasn’t being ordered to follow him, but he didn’t think she’d told Rogers, either, which meant she wasn't doing it for him. 

“So if we’re not going in, what are we even doing here?” Rollins asked. “We gonna spend another night staring at a pair of doors? Really? That’s what you want to do?” 

“Shut up,” Rumlow snapped, eyes on a woman with eyeglasses approaching from down the street. She was wearing a nice dress and heels, but didn’t look as confident as most of the people attending. She looked uncomfortable and a little shy, which made her a perfect mark. 

He slipped out of the van and started down the street. When he crashed into her, he made sure it looked like an accident. He reached to brace with her one arm, while his other hand neatly knocked her glasses to the ground. 

“Oh, hell, I’m _so sorry_ ,” he said, glancing up at her apologetically, giving her his most charming grin. “Let me get those for you.” 

He reached down and picked up the glasses, pressing a clear micro-camera to their bridge at the same time he lifted them to place them back on. 

She glanced at him, flushing and flustered. “Oh, thank you, sorry,” she said, smiling shyly. “Was probably my fault, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“Well, no harm done,” Rumlow said, grinning again as he spun on his heel and continued down the street. “You have a nice night!” 

He made it to the edge of the street, and then doubled back towards the van. Rollins just raised an eyebrow at him. “What the hell was that?” 

Rumlow ignored him, pulling up the feed on the computer screen. “Now we’ve got an inside woman,” he said. “And since she doesn’t know she’s an inside woman, no one’s gonna suspect her.” 

“Clever,” Rollins said. “But it’s a big party, and she didn’t exactly look like someone important. What are the chances she’s gonna be hanging out with Stark and the asset?” 

“Better than nothing,” Rumlow said impatiently, watching the feed. But unfortunately, the first person that caught his attention wasn’t Stark or the asset. 

“Romanoff,” Rumlow cursed. 

She was looking more herself, though instead of her usual skintight suit she was wearing a beautiful evening gown. She was sipping champagne, hovering around the entrance, but that was all they saw until their mark moved on. 

“I get Pierce not wanting us to take out Stark, but why is it he won’t let us take out Romanoff again?” Rollins complained. “We could make it look like an accident.” 

Rumlow snorted. “Yeah, sure, good luck with that,” he said. 

“You think I can’t take her?” Rollins demanded. 

“Buddy, I _know_ you can’t take her,” he said. “But that’s not why it’s hands off. The guy we hired botched Fury’s assassination. They’re hoping Romanoff can lead us to him.” 

“Yeah? We able to get in on that?” Rollins asked hopefully. 

“Our job is still to get the asset,” Rumlow said with a shake of his head. “And we’re running out of time. If we don’t have him by the end of the week, retrieval’s off. Pierce’ll give the order to take him out.” 

“Shit,” Rollins said. “He’s really gonna just off the asset?” 

“Not much of an asset if he’s working for the other team,” Rumlow pointed out. 

“I guess,” Rollins agreed. “Still, I wouldn’t mind helping out with Romanoff.” 

“You’re just bitter because she kicked your ass in the gym.” 

“That was years ago,” Rollins snapped. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Rumlow agreed. “She’s gotten better since then, could probably knock you out a hell of a lot quicker these days.” He looked back at Rollins with a frown. “Don’t fucking underestimate her. You’re all the back up Pierce’ll give me, I’d rather you not end up dead, cause that’s probably gonna get _me_ dead.” 

Rollins just turned his eyes back to the screen, which was fine with Rumlow. Rumlow usually got along better with Rollins than anyone else he’d ever worked with, but he figured living with someone in a van for over a month would destroy any relationship. 

Rollins was the one to break the silence, when he huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, great idea, Brock,” he said. “Now we’ve got all the footage we could ever want of the asset’s _ass_.” 

“What?” Rumlow asked, leaning down to view the screen, and _fuck_ , their plant was checking out the asset. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Well, I mean, you can’t exactly blame her,” Rollins said. “I’m secure enough in my heterosexuality to admit he’s got a great ass.” 

“The fuck—” Rumlow started. “You know, I don’t care. She can’t stare at him the whole time, and the important thing is that she’s actually tracking the asset for us.” Then he leaned forward in panic. “Wait, hold on—“ 

The view was cut off so they could no longer see the asset’s head. Rumlow wasn’t sure if that was because the mark he’d chosen had trouble keeping her head up or she really was focussed on the asset’s ass, but he could only see the waist down—but he recognized the dress of the woman standing right next to him. 

“That’s Romanoff,” he said worriedly. 

“You sure?” Rollins asked, straightening up. “You don’t—I mean, you don’t think she’s working with the asset, do you?” 

The mark finally raised her head, just as the asset was disappearing off camera. But she held her head steady long enough for them to see Romanoff, standing there expressionless, tightly holding a wine glass. 

“No,” Rumlow said, but wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or even more concerning. 

Something else was tickling at the back of his mind, and he narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Run it back again,” he said. 

Rollins skipped back to when the asset was talking with Romanoff. They were both in profile, and all they could see of him was his left hand and his legs. _His left hand_. 

“Where’s his fucking metal arm?” Rumlow demanded. 

“Holy shit,” Rollins said, leaning closer to the screen. “Must be a holo-net? Right? I mean, what else could it be?” 

That made sense, but it still made Rumlow uneasy. If Stark was planning to use the asset as a weapon, why would he be dressing him up all pretty? Why would he be letting him go off on his own and have interactions with others? None of it made any sense. 

They didn’t learn anything else from their camera feed. They only got a couple more glimpses of the asset at all, but he was with Stark every time. By the end of the night, they knew it was too late—they’d lost their window. There was no way they’d manage to grab the asset before Pierce had to initiate Project Insight. 

And then it wouldn’t matter.

\- - - - - 

Rollins was dead.

It felt like the whole world was burning. It was supposed to be so simple, instantaneous, even. The Helicarriers were supposed to fire before anyone even knew what was happening—but Rogers had screwed everything up, and now the Helicarriers were taking each other out and he was barely holding on as they started going down and—

And Rollins was dead. 

Rumlow had always thought Rogers was stupid for toting nothing but that stupid shield, but it had split Rollins’ head open smooth as anything, so quick a bullet couldn’t have done it any better. Rumlow had only been spared because he’d already been trapped by a falling piece of the Helicarrier, and Rogers hadn’t considered him enough of a threat to delay his mission any longer. 

So now he was laying here as the whole damn Helicarrier fell, with his dead best friend staring back at him sightlessly from only two feet away. 

He should have been angry, but Hydra had taught him that pain was a gift. If he lived through this, he’d be stronger. _It was a gift._

The beam that had fallen on him shifted as the Helicarrier jerked again, and he pressed his mouth shut to hold in a scream. The beam was cutting into one of his legs hard enough that he knew he had to get out of this soon or risk losing it. 

He wondered if they’d give him a metal leg, like the asset. 

It was that thought that had it taking awhile for him to realize what he was looking at. He thought it might be a hallucination, at first. He could see a man rushing in from one of the higher levels, getting knocked off his feet as the Helicarrier threw them again. 

He caught himself in a crouch just a foot away, then froze when he saw him. Rumlow was just as surprised, staring back at him in disbelief. The asset looked at him with wide doe-eyes and looked absolutely nothing like the man he’d first met in some dodgy Hydra basement. 

He was wearing a shirt that said _Hulk sleepy!_ , for fuck’s sake. 

“What the fuck,” Rumlow said eloquently. 

“Uh, hi,” the asset said, still staring at him with those wide eyes, until he jerked his head to the side like he heard something—Rumlow didn’t know what it was, he couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in his ears. 

The asset looked back at him one more time, said, “bye,” like they’d just run into each other outside of a coffee shop and not in a _doomed Helicarrier_ , and then pushed himself gracefully back to his feet and ran off without looking back. 

“What the fuck,” Rumlow said again. 

He didn’t get long to wonder about it, because soon after that the last engine must have given out, and he was falling and everything was going black. He didn’t know how long he was out before the world started to filter back into his consciousness, but the first thing he noticed was the pain. 

The second thing he noticed was that he was still in the Helicarrier, but the piece that had been trapping him had been knocked loose. Everything was sinking slowly, and his lower body was already submerged in the water. If he’d woken up just a little later, it might have been too late, but somehow he’d made it. He’d survived. 

He started laughing.

\- - - - - 

It wasn’t revenge, not really. Rumlow wasn’t one of those stupid _Avengers_ , it wasn’t about that. But Hydra had lost almost everything—their leaders, their funds, all of their assets. There was just one asset left that might be able to save them.

So Rumlow was going to get him back. 

There was a base in Siberia with five more of them, but they couldn’t control them without help. The asset may be able to keep them in line and finish their training, then help them take the world back. They wouldn’t be as subtle about it this time. If Pierce had been right about anything, it was that. It was time to come out of the shadows. 

So he rounded up the best guys he knew out of Hydra’s meager survivor set, and set up base in the building across from Stark Tower. 

Figuring out that the asset had started spending his night’s in Tony Stark’s bed? Well, that had answered a lot of questions about what the hell Stark had been thinking. 

He wished he could tell Rollins. 

But Rollins was dead, and these other guys had no sense of humor, so he kept it professional. They dropped from a helicopter onto the roof, and set off the EMP. 

Then they were dropping down on pre-measured lines with a powered battering ram and crashing into Stark’s penthouse apartment. It was easy, and going perfectly to plan, right up until then. 

Rumlow had known the asset was dangerous. He’d never had the chance to go out into the field with him, but he’d seen the videos. It was just sort of hard to reconcile that with the wide-eyed do-gooder he and Rollins had been stalking for the last few weeks. 

This guy though? This was the _asset_ , no question. He was killing Rumlow’s best men with one strike each in near total darkness without a single misstep or pause, and all Rumlow could do was step further away and keep going through that sequence of words, hoping he reached the last word before the asset reached him. 

He just barely made it, triggering the asset with exactly no time to spare. Then he gave the order: “Your mission is to return to the Beta site, solider.” 

From that point, a calm took over him. He’d done his job. The asset had his mission, and he’d never failed at his mission. Whatever Stark managed to do, he didn’t think he could stop him. Stark was persuasive, of course, trying to talk him out of it, and talk him down. 

And the way he looked at the asset? 

Fuck, the guy was in love. That part? He hadn’t seen coming, but maybe he should have. Stark was selfish, he was always just trying to protect what was his. So that was why he'd been protecting the asset. Not because he was going to use him, but because he was _one of his own_. 

But there was a much bigger picture at stake. 

“You don’t know what it is to fight for a cause, do you, Stark?” he asked. “To be willing to die for a belief?” 

“Nah,” Stark said, unconcerned. Predictable. “I’d much rather make it out alive than die a martyr. You can, too.” 

He couldn’t, of course. He knew too much, he couldn’t be captured. That was Hydra’s rule number one, don’t get taken alive—and once he was dead, the asset’s secondary protocols to protect a handler would be void, and the asset could complete his mission. 

Which meant he’d done everything he needed to. 

“My mission is complete,” Rumlow decided calmly. “He’s already ours. Whatever you do to me, you haven’t won."

He resignedly began to raise his gun. He’d been pretty sure he wasn’t going to make it out of this one, but he’d always thought the asset would be the one to take him out. 

And instead it ended up being Tony fucking St—

**Author's Note:**

> Little story fact: Natasha followed Bucky to the homeless shelter—which means she’s actually got her eyes on him when she has her call with Tony in Chapter 10, in which Tony is trying to tell her he doesn’t know anything about him.


End file.
